


All's Well That Mends Well

by veil-of-morrigan (MindYourMind)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Royalty AU, communication is key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 02:22:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18955963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindYourMind/pseuds/veil-of-morrigan
Summary: Two princes are very much in love, and everyone can see it -- except the two princes. COMPLETED. Oneshot.





	All's Well That Mends Well

**Author's Note:**

> For Marr. ^_^ Thank you for a prompt that smashed my writer's block!
> 
> Viktor is spelled with a "K" here, and POV switches are shown with the POV character's name, since I believe this is my prompter's preference.

MARI

The steward hummed to himself, waiting by the lavish gilded molding of the arched doorway. Princess Mari nodded from her seat at her polished desk, and held up a hand to beg his patience, hastily finishing her script with her other hand. There was always a last-minute note to send to somebody somewhere. She laid the carved brush down on its matching stand, then beckoned. "Yes, Morooka, what have you got there?"

"A gift from your brother, Crown Princess," said the steward, smiling gently and crossing the expanse of red and blue diamond carpet to offer her a small wooden box on a bronze platter. "He says it would be better for you to see it before your birthday gala, and not after."

"Thank you, Morooka. What say you? Early because he knows I'm going to get _fiendishly_ drunk on sake, or because he's going to get drunk staring into a certain someone's eyes?"

" _Nee_ -san!"

Mari and Morooka exchanged smiles as Mari snatched up the box, and as one they turned toward the reproachful voice. Prince Yuuri stood a little to the side of the door, arranging folded streamers to dangle from the mantelpiece. He wore his newest best outfit, a blue doublet of crushed velvet and silver hose, with silver-slashed sleeves to match. He crossed his arms firmly, as if ready to fend off any further teasing.

"You really need to stop sneaking around and showing up suddenly," said Mari. Of course her brother wouldn't stop skulking, he had a knack for making himself invisible if he wanted to be. But scolding him was her lot in life.

"You need to stop trying to convince me to woo Prince Viktor," said Yuuri.

Morooka, sensing the conversation was going down a route all of the seasoned palace staff knew by rote, took Mari's finished note and excused himself to find a different task.

"You don't have to woo him, if you don't _want_ to," said Mari, flicking imaginary dust off her brown leather girdle. "If you'd rather _he_ do the wooing, you need to give him a little encouragement first, that's all. He can't read you like I do, Yuuri. But all of us can read the two of you: you're absolutely besotted."

Yuuri, in a fit of pique more exaggerated than his wont, rolled his eyes theatrically.

Mari could swear Prince Viktor was a corrupting influence. How precious. She wanted to say as much, but decided to play the mercy card, for the moment. As a peace offering, she opened up the box and cooed over the tiny dagger, hilt overlaid with falcon claws and rubies. "Thank you, Yuuri, you absolutely should have and I'm glad you know what your sister is due." 

"Happy birthday, _nee_ -san." Yuuri's smile was soft and genuine, despite a lingering hint of irritation. "Now I insist you rest easy, I will oversee the preparation for the banquet, since our parents are still on their journey."

Mari was glad for the help, but still made him work for the honor to oversee _her_ party.

* * *

YUURI

Yuuri wanted to tear his hair out by the roots. By some reverse miracle, half of Mari's instructions had been misinterpreted. Thus, he and Morooka dashed about the castle righting everything, up until the very moment the guests from the surrounding kingdoms were due to arrive. At one point, Yuuri even helped set the silverware and plates on the long, narrow tables, while the maids ran mad changing the decorations to Mari's favorite blue and red. How anybody had gotten that obvious and simple color scheme wrong, Yuuri could not say.

He trusted the last of it to Morooka, ducking behind a curtain near the main hall to dash scented water over his face and wipe away all traces of sweat.

The first guest from the next kingdom over was the good Duke of Giacometti, Christophe. Yuuri hastened to meet him. He thanked various gods for scented water as his friend almost lifted him off the ground (Christophe insisted it was a "bear hug") and whispered greetings in his ear. Yuuri did not know why such an embrace was called thus; perhaps from another man, it would be. But the good duke, to Yuuri at least, would always be a cuddly boa constrictor on legs.

"I trust your journey was a good one, Christophe?"

"Very much so, I had my darling Vitya with me, and so the time flew by as if angels were pulling us in a chariot," said Christophe, smiling.

Yuuri very, very pointedly did _not_ look around anxiously for Prince Viktor.

"He will be along shortly -- nerves, you know. There is a terrifyingly handsome prince presiding in this castle, and lesser men than Vitya have been utterly discomfited by the mere notion of him." Christophe was still hanging off him, and Yuuri began to worry that their buttons would catch upon each other. He wondered if Christophe's gift to Mari involved taking up her cause, teasing Yuuri about the prince of Nikiforov.

"He is welcome to retire to rest a few moments, should he need," said Yuuri, defaulting to the role of a gracious host. "It will be another hour before all our international guests arrive, and another hour after for the workday to end so my people can join us as well."

"Thank you, I shall tell him so," said Christophe, disentangling himself without ruining his crimson mesh doublet, and blowing Yuuri a brief farewell kiss.

Yuuri greeted other guests as they arrived. None were quite as enthusiastic as Christophe, up until the prince and princess of Crispino glided soundlessly over the carpet. Princess Sara practically launched herself into Yuuri's arms. Thankfully, he anticipated her and caught her fast. 

"Yuuri! How are you coping with everyone paying attention to Crown Princess Mari instead of you?" she asked, giggling.

Yuuri took care not to crush the lavender folds of her swooping gown, then answered, "Quite well, I assure you. I am used to _not_ sharing my birthday with a twin, princess."

Sara released him, but neither of the twins looked convinced. (It could be that Mickey was just tamping down jealousy. Which was still an improvement, he really was making progress accepting that his sister was allowed to have friends outside of family.)

A current of anxiety slithered in the back of Yuuri's awareness, as time passed and King Phichit, newly crowned monarch of Chulanont, still did not make his appearance. He resisted the urge to bite his lip as the common people filtered in, all self-consciously wiping their shoes before treading upon the fine carpet. Yuuri smiled and waved at them, hoping he could set their fears at ease, if he couldn't dispel his own. They all smiled back, and a few even shyly pressed gifts for Mari or himself into his hand, or a servant's hand.

Phichit had already sent a message that he would arrive early, the cheeky liar. At this rate, he would be the last royal guest to make it through the castle gates before the evening darkness descended like a veil. He hoped his best friend's tardiness was due to something trifling, like a falcon hunt gone too long, or helping a merchant caravan repair a broken axle, or settling a petty dispute between two of his nobles.

To distract himself, he retired to his father's library to practice his speech to launch the banquet, which was fast approaching. Yuuri draped one arm over his father's favorite armchair, fished a small parchment from a secret pocket in his doublet, and started spouting.

"Thank you all for coming here. We are blessed to celebrate another year of my sister, the crown princess, gracing us with her caring, if very sarcastic, presence . . ."

Yuuri paused at the sound of a soft yelp, followed by a heavy thud. He turned this way and that, till his eyes lighted upon a young man with silver hair and a lavish magenta and rose doublet. 

Said young man was sprawled rather awkwardly over an ottoman, legs akimbo, hair fanning over one eye, arms bracing against the floor.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you? I hope the ottoman broke your fall enough to avoid injury!" Yuuri was glad that his instincts guided him in helping Prince Viktor to his feet, the way he would have helped Christophe or Mickey or Phichit. Without them, he would have stood gawking like a fish, speech forgotten for good.

Because the sight of Prince Viktor trying very hard to look like he _meant_ to drape himself at an odd angle over an ottoman was _ridiculously_ striking.

Blue eyes blinked at him wordlessly -- for five seconds. Then a torrent gushed forth.

"Oh no, not at all! I'm perfectly fine, Prince Yuuri, honestly! I just ducked in here to freshen up and read to calm my mind. I . . . I didn't think I would be disturbing anyone. You don't mind, I trust? Having a clumsy prince falling down left and right in your father's library?"

Yuuri assured him all was well and that he was not clumsy. He continued fussing (the only thing Yuuri could do without losing composure) and guided the other prince over to his father's chair. Yuuri noticed a long rip in the black hose along Viktor's left leg, and a bit of gold trim ripped along the hem of his doublet. He rang for a maid, and sent her to fetch new hose and mending supplies quickly, to save the other prince embarrassment. The maid brought the items requested, then left to assist in ushering the last of the guests to the tables.

Yuuri motioned for Prince Viktor to set himself to rights, and was about to excuse himself, lest he lose all hope of focus entirely. But Prince Viktor's fingers grasped his wrist, halting Yuuri's progress out of the room and out of the fog of emotions clouding his mind.

"I . . . I am sorry, but I know not how to mend a garment," Prince Viktor said. Ye gods, was that a fetching blush on his cheeks. "Could the maid return after she has finished her other duties? I can wait."

Yuuri weighed two choices in a balance in his mind's eye. On the one scale, sanity and responsibility. He could send word for the first maid free to mend Viktor's ripped doublet, then take his leave, memorize his speech. He could go on with his life without feeling like a court jester offering his heart up on a platter, the way Morooka had offered Yuuri's gift to Mari.

On the other scale, madness and chaos. Madness in kneeling down before another prince to mend the prince's clothes himself. Madness in ignoring his other duties, for if he lingered, he wouldn't have time to memorize anything. The entire kingdom would watch him pretend he wasn't staring at a piece of parchment while speaking. Madness in staring at those pretty, pretty eyes.

Mari was a terrible person. Terrible because she was right. Yuuri was drunk on those eyes already and he'd scarce been in Prince Viktor's presence for five minutes.

Yuuri could feel that he was standing on a threshold. He'd been standing on a threshold for weeks now, actually. 

It was time to move.

"If Your Royal Highness will permit," said Yuuri, remembering to use the title since Viktor was a Crown Prince and by the etiquette of both their countries, it would be rude to omit it. "I can have your garment ready in five minutes or so." His nerves made him want to bleed poetic and say something ridiculous, like "I will repair thine raiment, if thou wilt suffer me to do so." Utterly ridiculous.

After his speech, Yuuri paused, hoping Viktor would not think less of him for seamster's work. He could not imagine Viktor, who in childhood was infamous for well-meant mistakes, getting in a tizzy over another prince wielding a needle and thread. But anxiety was a very cruel mistress who brooked no such thing as reason.

Those blue eyes grew so wide, even though Viktor looked touched, Yuuri had to look away. Too blinding, too . . . intimate.

Yuuri bade the crown prince wait a moment while he went to his room for good gold thread. But somehow he found himself leading Prince Viktor to his room instead. What was it Viktor had insisted on? Something about not wanting to make Yuuri take multiple trips? Yuuri didn't know. Yuuri knew nothing. Yuuri had lost his mooring in a sea of blue.

Like a hound enamored with the scent of blood, Yuuri made a beeline for his sewing supplies in a wee cupboard. He was so focused, he hadn't realized he'd gruffly instructed the prince who technically outranked him to perch on the end of Yuuri's bed.

To Yuuri's relief, Prince Viktor didn't seem to mind at all. 

Remembering that he, too, had an ottoman in his room, Yuuri hauled it over and knelt on the cushion to save his knees -- and keep them from knocking together. Luckily Viktor started chattering like a magpie, and Yuuri let his mind wander as he worked.

"I see you have a falconer's glove, Prince Yuuri. Do you hunt often? Do you reward your fine pets with morsels from your hand when their performance is satisfactory?"

"Ah, no," Yuuri answered, busy untangling the rebellious metallic thread. "It is a gift for my father's birthday next month, upon my parent's return from their tour of the continent."

He heard Viktor cough delicately. "Ah." A pause; the thread was vanquished. Yuuri wondered how splendid Viktor might look if the thread were switched from gold to silver to match his hair. "I must confess,” Viktor went on, “I am impressed how pragmatic you are. Christophe told me you and your sister help the footmen and maids for every event, since you were children.”

“You flatter us; it's quite common in this region. Especially during seasons of sowing or harvest or illness.” Yuuri neglected to add in childhood, he'd been glued fast to his best friend Yuuko the scullery maid, up until she and Takeshi had left to start a farm and a family together. Or that he and Mari had learned to sew from a young age, too apt to destroy their clothes tramping around the castle grounds.

Viktor was quiet for a few moments; Yuuri fell into a steady rhythm in time with the crown prince's breathing. “But you must have an impressive skill set by now,” he heard Viktor begin again.

“I beg your pardon?”

The edge of the doublet shifted slightly as Viktor fidgeted. “I mean to say, you can do any task required in this castle, can you not? And you understand the labor and time that goes into it. So you won't order someone to cook a feast without a few days' preparation, Or someone to craft a new banner or diadem or sword in just an afternoon.”

“No, indeed,” Yuuri said. “But also, any royal can learn how much time is needed, just by asking. It is no magic spell kept as a secret.”

“Oh.” Viktor sounded disappointed, though Yuuri couldn't imagine why.

So Yuuri broached another subject. “You can learn a skill now. I'll show you how I hold the needle and maintain tension with the thread.”

“Oh, yes, please do! Please teach me how to maintain . . . tension.”

Yuuri thought this emphasis on the word rather odd, but then his gaze caught Viktor's, and he promptly forgot he was supposed to be teaching the prince anything.

* * *

VIKTOR 

Viktor had never felt like a more perfect buffoon in his life before that moment. There was no talking to Prince Yuuri; the man was mysteries woven into flesh, secrets scribed onto bone, a perfect enigma buried under delicate skin. Yuuri was cordiality personified with Viktor, but always distant. 

Did that mean he didn't care for Viktor, or that he just needed more time to grow attuned to him? Viktor had to know! But he was further from knowing now than when he had first met Prince Yuuri.

Despair created a growing pressure beneath Viktor's ribs.

For weeks upon weeks, every time he tried to get under Yuuri's skin emotionally, to spur a reaction, either favor or rejection, all he received was cool dismissal. As if Yuuri could not, would not see what Viktor was about. Every time he tried to make normal conversation, his words sounded just as interested as his actual sallies at gallantry and flirtation. (Damn his friendship with the good duke Christophe; Viktor was far too used to a relaxed excess of affection that others -- that this oh-so-reserved Yuuri -- could not understand.)

Viktor was hopeless. No matter what came out of his mouth, it would be an ode to Yuuri. He was at the mercy of a terrible person. A wonderfully terrible person. Who was mending his doublet while Viktor sat helpless on his bed, after making a fool of himself tripping over an ottoman.

He must continue to move onward, nevertheless. At least Yuuri was showing him a practical skill now.

“Is Crown Princess Mari going to let loose an arrow at a gong, to announce the beginning of the banquet this year?” Viktor asked. 

Yuuri smirked a little as he pulled the thread taught. Viktor felt his heart leaping like a deer in springtime. “No,” said Yuuri. “I do not know what she's planned this year. She wants to surprise everyone.”

“Oh, delightful. I love surprises!”

Yuuri's eyes met his briefly, and he nodded. “So do I.” Sometimes Yuuri's eyes looked like chocolate, sometimes like wine, sometimes like deep mahogany. Today they were like burnished leather, and Viktor wondered if Yuuri had picked the glove for his father _because_ its color matched his eyes.

Viktor wanted to freeze that moment in time, the way you pressed a dried flower between two leaves of parchment and hoped the scent would linger with the colors. But then Yuuri snipped the thread with shears, and stood up to announce his mending was finished. Viktor couldn't stop himself from looking around for a sharp edge to shred the other side of his doublet. Anything to keep him in Yuuri's private bedchamber.

“Thank you, Prince Yuuri.”

Yuuri inclined his head and led him back down the halls toward the rest of the guests. He never felt more grateful in his life when the good duke Christophe appeared and halted their progress before they had returned to the banquet hall. 

“Ah, two of my dearest people!” 

Viktor accepted Christophe's hug gladly; he desperately needed comfort to sustain him through the rest of the celebration. And Christophe knew it. “Take heart,” Christophe spoke softly in his ear. “Prince Yuuri is slow to warm to people. Just be patient.”

“I'm going mad, my friend,” Viktor murmured into Christophe's mesh-encased shoulder. “He'll never warm to me.”

Christophe released him with a significant look that Viktor knew all too well. And then Christophe practically flung himself at Prince Yuuri.

“Chris,” said Yuuri patiently, as if the good duke were a tabby cat winding around his leg begging for morsels from the table. He patted Christophe's back and rubbed his shoulders. “You saw me not ten minutes hence!”

“And those ten minutes were an age, I tell you,” said Christophe, with an amiable grin. He stepped back, hand perched on one hip, and inclined his head to Viktor. Demonstration complete, point driven home.

Well. If Chris could do it, Viktor could do it _better_. He'd earn a closeness of that nature with Prince Yuuri by banquet's end, or perish in his quest.

* * *

YUURI

Yuuri watched as Christophe embraced his friend and whispered something in his ear. But then he shot Yuuri a very pointed look, and Yuuri felt ice encrusting his spine as he realized two things. One, Christophe knew Yuuri fancied Viktor very much indeed. Two, Christophe could tell Viktor this at any time.

Yuuri would very much like to box the good duke Christophe's ears. The almighty nerve of the man!

Though his approval was appreciated, Yuuri as quite sure he did _not_ need Christophe's permission to show interest in Viktor, nor his assistance. Yuuri was quite capable on his own, thank you very much!

Yuuri very much wished King Phichit were there, so they could rant to each other.

But now the three of them had to make haste; the banquet was about to start. The three of them marched smartly down to the banquet hall, Viktor and Christophe veering off to their seats near the Crispino twins, Yuuri for the dais to make his speech. His fingers slipped to his secret breast pocket, but it was empty.

He must have left his speech in his room!

Yuuri mounted the dais with dread seeping out of his every pore. He wanted to return to his bed and never show his face anywhere again. This was going to be a memorable disaster. His mind was a perfect wasteland of ideas.

And then he saw Viktor seated at the table blushing, and Christophe elbowing him and Viktor only blushing all the more.

Christophe was teasing Viktor the same way he had just teased Yuuri.

And then Yuuri knew he had been reading Viktor's strange behavior wrong that day. And all the days before. The times Viktor had invited him on a gondola ride, had asked him to survey a vineyard with him, had asked him to test the waters of a new pool. 

He knew what he had to do, and he silently apologized in his mind to Mari. She had been right, and he was about to show her up at her own birthday party.

“Thank you all for coming. We are gathered here to celebrate my sister, the crown princess, and help her make good memories to usher in another blessed year of her life.”

He went on to share several anecdotes about their childhood, and talked longer than he planned. But nobody seemed to mind. Even Prince Seung-gil, renowned satirist of pomp and ceremony and social events in general, seemed to have no complaints.

But now it was time for a finish with a flourish. “I have a gift from my parents to present my sister, but I will need a second pair of hands to seal the matter. Crown Prince Viktor, if I may beg your favor?”

Viktor seemed still as a statue. Yuuri watched carefully and saw a subtle nudge from from the good duke Christophe, before Viktor rose to his feet and fluidly walked to stand by Yuuri on the dais.

Yuuri's heart sped as he leaned to whisper in Viktor's ear. “I'm going to escort my sister to the dais, while a maid brings forth a new leather girdle with the sigil of our house for my sister. If you would be so good as to accept it and help me lace her into it -- it's complicated and needs two pairs of hands.”

Viktor took a step back, his expression stunned, though he still smiled for the benefit of those watching them. “Forgive me, isn't this a sort of ceremony performed only by family? Immediate family?”

“Yes, but the rest of my family is absent, and--” Yuuri looked directly into those blue eyes, steeling himself and taking the plunge, “--I would like you to become family, if you find me and my family agreeable.”

Viktor's blush leached out of his face, and he looked white as a sheet. “I . . . I feel we have been speaking different tongues up until now. Let us be clear: you _did_ just declare you have serious designs upon me in front of your entire kingdom and all our peers?”

“Yes.”

“You will be the _death_ of me. Yes. This is agreeable. But we need to _talk_ later.”

Yuuri inclined his head and turned. “Be ready to welcome your demise, then, crown prince.”

Mari met him halfway to the dais, breaking convention as usual. To his surprise, she took his arm when he offered it, and squeezed. “Are you sure I shouldn't be congratulating _you_?” she said quietly, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“You could congratulate Prince Viktor,” Yuuri suggested.

“The good duke Christophe has that role amply filled, I am sure.”

They stepped onto the dais. Viktor had recovered enough to deftly help position Mari's new girdle over the old, and hold it fast as Yuuri laced the sides up as quickly as possible. Yuuri glimpsed King Phichit making his way to the table, and they exchanged smiles.

Mari had the audicity to wink at Viktor at an angle the audience would not be able to see. “I am glad my note made its way to Duke Christophe in time.”

“Oh? Pray, what note?” Viktor's voice matched the wariness growing in Yuuri's own mind.

Mari smiled as she fit her dagger from Yuuri into the girdle's sheath. It was a perfect fit. “The note advising that Crown Prince Viktor take respite in my father's library . . . at the same time Prince Yuuri practiced his speech there.”

“ _Nee_ -san!”

“Am I to understand this was orchestrated by Your Royal Highness and the good duke?” Viktor's blue eyes were wide.

“Perish the thought! We just gave Yuuri the nudge he needed, that's all.”

“I needed no such thing,” said Yuuri, firmly tying off the lacing at both sides.

Viktor laughed softly. "And here I had thought I'd have to _work_ for your attention."

Mari thanked them with bows and good-naturedly shooed them off the dais for her own speech.

As they walked in tune with one another back to the table, Yuuri whispered in Viktor's ear: “I cannot wait another moment to say this. Your eyes are _beautiful_.”

He only glimpsed part of the curve of Viktor's lips, but that was enough. He wasn't sure he could have said it if he were looking into Viktor's eyes, after all.

“That's what I have been wanting to tell _you_ all day,” he heard Viktor say softly. Viktor's fingers found Yuuri's wrist again. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Viktor slipped his hand in Yuuri's, and it stayed their until they reached their table. King Phichit had taken Yuuri's assigned seat, so Viktor and Yuuri sat down next to each other, opposite Christophe. They pointedly ignored the good duke's knowing smirk.

Yuuri was so deliriously happy, he forgot most of his sister's speech. But the entire banquet hall erupted when Mari ended her speech with a proclamation that brought even his soaring thoughts down to earth. She had no intention of ever marrying, and so when her coronation day arrived, she would name her brother Prince Yuuri as co-regent.

Viktor squeeze his hand again. "Congratulations."

Yuuri need not have worried about upstaging his sister's birthday celebration after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Christophe is the BEST. WINGMAN. EVER. and I will brook no arguments. (I mean, he rarely stays as JUST the wingman in any given situation, but THAT, my darlings, is neither here nor there.)
> 
> Confession: I always forget when it's appropriate to use Your Royal Highness vs. Your Majesty, so I had to Google it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
